


Aymeric Has A Bad Time

by Wombat (Superwombat6)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27394876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superwombat6/pseuds/Wombat
Summary: If he's being honest with himself, Ser Aymeric did not expect his meeting with the Archbishop to go well.However, he did not expect it to go quitethispoorly.With the knights of the Heavens' Ward only too eager to show their true colors in their cruel interrogation, how long can Aymeric last?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	Aymeric Has A Bad Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is intended to more or less fill in the blanks in Aymeric's POV from what you see via the Echo through to when you next see him after the Vault.
> 
> Yes, this is self-indulgent as all hells.
> 
> But what is writing for if not tormenting your faves?

_ This wasn't how it was meant to go. _

Oh he'd considered the  _ possibility _ , sure, but, well… he hadn't actually expected it.

Bastard son or no, Ser Aymeric was the Archbishop's flesh and blood. Surely,  _ surely  _ that counted for  _ something. _

"If he has spoken to others, I would have their names. Escort him to a cell and question him. Thoroughly."

_ No.  _ Aymeric took half a step forward, words of defiance rising in his throat. He was halted by the sound of a weapon being drawn, by the feel of cold steel pressing against his neck. He froze, his gaze following the weapon to its wielder.

Ser Zephirin smirked, barely deigning to glance at his prey. "Your Eminence," he said, acknowledging the Archbishop's order.

On Aymeric's other side, Ser Grinnaux stood wearing a similar expression. At a nod from Zephirin, Grinnaux roughly grabbed Aymeric's arms and bound his hands behind him.  _ Far _ too tightly, though it was most likely intentional on the brutish Grinnaux’s part. Aymeric silently grit his teeth, forced himself to ignore how his hands already throbbed from the pressure.

The wolfish, predatory smile on Grinnaux’s face faded ever-so-slightly at the lack of a visible reaction, and Aymeric chose to take what small pleasure he could in the minute victory.

It would seem it was time for plan B. He’d hoped he could talk reason into his father, but… failing that, a martyr for the truth would be hard for the people to ignore. It had been his backup plan from the start, albeit a desperate one. It mattered not; he would do whatever he could, whatever he  _ needed _ to, to see the truth brought to light.

Zephirin and Grinnaux brought him deep into the catacombs beneath the Vault, to the cells usually reserved for heretics. Aymeric supposed he  _ was _ one now, as far as the Church was concerned. Never mind that he sought to help the people.

Finally, they came to a door that seemed to Aymeric to be the same as every other in the hallway. Zephirin turned the heavy lock and pushed the door open, and Grinnaux threw Aymeric to the ground inside. He landed hard on his shoulder, grunting in pain. He looked up just in time to see the sadistic grins on the knights’ faces as they entered behind him.

“This can go very smoothly for you if you cooperate,” said Zephirin coolly, squatting down to look Aymeric in the eyes. “Just tell us who you learned of this… so-called  _ truth _ from, and who you’ve shared it with since. That is all.”

Aymeric bared his teeth in an angry snarl. “And doom any who I name to die, and the truth along with them? I will not!”

“Pity,” said Grinnaux, though the look on his face said that he was anything  _ but _ disappointed. He couldn’t conceal his grin for long. “Guess we get to have fun after all.”

Grinnaux slammed a fist into an open hand, but Zephirin rose and held a hand out. “Ser Grinnaux, please.” Grinnaux deflated, backing off. For the briefest moment, Aymeric dared hope that the two would actually conduct themselves like  _ knights _ , and go about their questioning in a more civilized manner.

Then an armored boot slammed into his ribs, and he heard a distinct  _ crack _ . Aymeric doubled over, winded and struggling to breathe against the pain exploding through his chest. The movement put further strain on his bound hands, and he felt the rope bite harshly into his wrists.

Zephirin laughed. “By the  _ Fury _ , that felt good.” He turned toward Grinnaux, shaking his head. “Do you know how long I’ve had to watch as the seat of the Lord Commander-- a title which should  _ rightfully be mine _ \-- was claimed by this  _ bastard _ _?_ Too long. Far too long. It’s about time he learned his  _ place. _ ”

The final word was punctuated by another kick, this one hard enough to throw Aymeric into the air until he hit the far wall. He dropped back to the ground face-down, his broken ribs screaming. He gasped and trembled as pain overwhelmed his senses, but he squeezed his eyes shut and remained focused on what needed to be done. For the sake of his friends, for the truth, and for  _ Ishgard _ , he would not break. He  _ could _ not.

Aymeric’s scalp joined the cacophony of agony as someone grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged him into a sitting position against the wall. A scream finally tore itself free from his throat; somewhere between the cruel pull on his hair, the twisting and pulling on his ribs, and the growing numbness of his hands, it became too much for him to bear silently any more.

He could hear Grinnaux laughing delightedly somewhere above him. “There-- I knew you couldn’t keep that strong front up forever. Why don’t you tell us what we want to know, and we’ll leave you be? I might even be willing to untie you, if you behave.”

They’d only just begun, but the pain was already nigh  _ unbearable _ . But, when he thought of the centuries of death and destruction, the suffering of his people, the choice became a trivial one. “ _ No, _ ” he hissed between clenched teeth.

Grinnaux’s face twisted into a mask of fury, and he used his grip on Aymeric’s hair to slam his head into the wall, hard. Aymeric’s vision swam, and he felt his consciousness waver. He almost gave in to it, too, thinking that if he was unconscious the knights couldn’t ask their damnable questions.

It would be a temporary solution at best, though, so he stubbornly hung on. This only seemed to enrage Grinnaux further, for the man released Aymeric’s hair only to slam an armored fist across his face. Aymeric hit the ground hard, and tasted blood. Once more, he fought for consciousness.

Zephirin’s voice rang out in the cold cell. “Ser Grinnaux, that’s enough.”

Aymeric managed to ease an eye open to see what was happening. Grinnaux had drawn his fist back again, but Zephirin had caught it.

“Zephirin, what are you-- this stubborn bastard still won’t tell us anything, dammit!”

“I noticed,” Zephirin replied irritably. “He certainly won’t say much if you  _ knock him out _ , you idiot. Let us go retrieve Ser Charibert. His expertise may prove… useful.”

Grinnaux didn’t reply right away, just growled. Finally, he let out an angry huff and pulled his hand away from Zephirin. “Fine. But I want to  _ watch. _ ”

“But of course.” Zephirin strode to the door as Grinnaux stood, and turned to address Aymeric once more. “My dear Ser Aymeric, I’m  _ sure _ you’re aware of Ser Charibert’s reputation.”

He was. Charibert was a notorious sadist, a cruel man with a track record of brutal torture and ruthless interrogations to draw confessions from the heretics he saw to. If they were fetching him here, it could only mean one thing.

Zephirin smiled. “I see the fear in your eyes, Aymeric. Yes, I suggest you think  _ carefully _ about what you plan to say when we return. I’m afraid this will become  _ distinctly _ unpleasant for you if you remain uncooperative.”

Aymeric said nothing, just watched as the knights left. He heard the lock click into place behind them, heard the heavy footfalls recede down the hall.

He needed to get out of here.

True, he’d been able to weather the abuse from two…  _ over-enthusiastic _ Heavens’ Ward knights, kept his tongue with little difficulty. But Charibert was a professional. He’d drawn confessions from people who likely hadn’t even done anything wrong, who just said what he wanted to hear so he’d  _ stop _ . Aymeric liked to believe that he could withstand any torment, endure any torture, for the sake of those he held dear, but… he couldn’t be sure. It was likely that many of Charibert’s victims had held themselves in equal esteem.

With newfound resolve, Aymeric drew on his knight's training. He pushed the pain to the back of his mind, focused instead on what he fought for. Slowly, he managed to struggle to his feet, using the wall to support him. Then, he made his way along the wall to the locked door, stopping once he’d reached the side opposite where the hinges were, and  _ just _ far enough back to not be visible from outside the door. And he waited.

He didn’t have long to wait, as it happened; mere minutes after he got into position, footsteps echoed from down the hall. It was good that he’d gathered himself as quickly as he had.

Next the muffled conversation became audible, and then the clicking of the key in the lock. A loud clunk as it unlocked, and a creak as the door swung open. Then, for a moment, stunned silence.

Grinnaux was the first to break the silence. “Where--?” He rushed into the room, staring at the spattering of blood where Aymeric had been lying when the knights left. “Where in the hells did he go?!”

“You idiot,” said Zephirin.

Aymeric tensed, praying that Grinnaux wouldn’t somehow find the necessary brains to look behind him.

Zephirin strode into the room, lending a far more critical eye.

Aymeric didn’t give him time enough to spot him, launching himself shoulder-first into Zephirin’s chest.

Not expecting the assault, Zephirin stumbled, allowing Aymeric ample time to make a break for it. The one remaining unknown factor, Charibert, was caught similarly by surprise, and Aymeric slipped past him with ease. Now he just needed to find his way to the surface and--

_ Burning. _ The tunnel, once dark, was now filled with angry orange light cast by Charibert’s fireball. It slammed into Aymeric’s back and his world exploded with a bright flash of pain. The force of the spell threw him to the damp ground, spared from severe burns only by the armored cloak he still wore.

Dazed as he was, Aymeric was unable to fight back as his captors grabbed his arms and dragged him back to the cell. This time, rather than just tossing him to the ground, two of the knights held his arms while the third undid his bonds. The incredible relief as the rope fell away was decidedly temporary, however. Zephirin and Grinnaux ungently carried him over to the wall, where a set of manacles hung from chains. Charibert stood back some yalms away, just watching and smiling coldly as Aymeric’s hands were secured above him, leaving him to hang limply by his arms as the other two knights backed off.

This was it, then. His attempt to escape had failed, and he was face-to-face with the Inquisition’s most feared interrogator. All he had left was his hope that he could endure whatever the sadistic man had planned for him, to spare his friends a similar fate.

“Well,” Charibert spoke finally. “I suppose we can dispense with asking whether you’ve decided to cooperate. It’s rather clear to me what your decision is.”

Behind him, Grinnaux’s manic glee at the proceedings was palpable. Zephirin was far more reserved, but his smug grin made it clear that he was just as delighted as his fellow knights.

“Now, we’ll start off easy,” Charibert continued, pacing calmly as if he was lecturing a class. “It wouldn’t do for you to black out from the pain too early, after all. Any time you wish me to stop, you have but to give us the names of those you’ve associated with.”

It was a practiced speech, that much was obvious. Grimly, Aymeric wondered just how many men and women had found themselves in this position, helplessly listening to Ser Charibert’s mad posturing as they dreaded what was to come. Yes, it was the anticipation, the knowledge of the man’s reputation, that was truly maddening. Aymeric wouldn’t doubt that many a heretic sang long before Charibert cast a single spell.

He very much doubted that it stopped him from proceeding anyway.

“Know this ahead of time,” Aymeric hissed. The words were forced out with great difficulty, his broken ribs further strained by the position he was held in. Still, he pressed on. “I will tell you  _ nothing _ of what you wish to know. I am, above all else, a  _ knight _ , and my duty is to--!”

Charibert did not wait for him to finish. Electricity forked from his fingertips, danced across Aymeric’s metal armor,  _ seared _ where it passed. His words gave way to a howl of pain as his body convulsed from the shock, his wrists chafed by the manacles as he unwillingly pulled against them. His broken ribs screamed at the further abuse, and he felt consciousness begin to slip away.

And then, it was over. Aymeric’s body lost all strength, going limp against his chains. He trembled, struggled to regain his senses, managed to remember how to breathe. When he did, his breaths came in ragged gasps that left him coughing. That sent further shocks of pain through his traumatized ribs, and it was all he could do to remain conscious.

Somewhere in the room, Charibert hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, very nice. I’ve found Thunder magic  _ particularly _ effective when used on prisoners who still wear their armor. What do you think, Ser Aymeric? I can always try a more powerful spell."

_ Gods, no. _ He didn’t think he could handle it. Aymeric squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on breathing. His friends’ faces drifted into his mind’s eye-- Haurchefant’s bright enthusiastic smile, the unwavering loyalty in Lucia’s eyes, that slight smirk that sometimes crossed Estinien’s stoic features… The Warrior of Light’s determined stare, never giving up no matter the odds.

They gave him the strength he needed. His breathing calmed, and he opened his eyes to glare at Charibert. “As I was saying,” he grated out. “I am a  _ knight _ , just as much as you are. I will  _ never _ abandon the cause I am sworn to. I will endure  _ whatever I have to _ for the sake of those under my protection.”

Charibert’s eyes narrowed. “So be it.” He raised  _ both _ hands this time, and it was the last thing Aymeric saw before his vision went white.

This time, he wasn’t even aware of what his body was doing. He couldn’t tell if that sound filling the room was him screaming, or the sound of the magic, or perhaps the knights themselves. The only thing he was aware of was  _ pain _ . It was  _ unbearable _ . And yet, the numbing embrace of unconsciousness cruelly eluded him. He could feel his wrists ache from the way his body strained without his input, pulled against his restraints, desperate to  _ escape the pain _ .

After what felt like an eternity, the brutal assault ended. Charibert was saying something, but Aymeric couldn’t parse the words. He couldn’t even find the strength to lift his head, though he was still unable to escape the hell that was consciousness.

A sudden,  _ bitter _ cold snapped him back to reality with a gasp. Aymeric managed to just barely look up, and saw icicles melting from Charibert’s glove.

“See? I did  _ not  _ overdo it. I know  _ exactly _ what I’m doing.”

“Yes, yes, very impressive.” Zephirin rolled his eyes. “Well?”

Aymeric was at his limit, and Charibert knew it. His will was slowly wearing and fraying, and while he would remain stubborn to the last, he now understood that he was not as unbreakable as he’d hoped.

“Ser Aymeric. We both know that you won’t last much longer here,” Charibert sneered. “I suggest you amend your previous statement, and save us both the trouble.”

Charibert’s hand crackled dangerously with raw magic. Aymeric stared apprehensively, struggling to muster the will to speak.

“...Very well,” he said finally, his words barely a whisper. “As you wish. I will… amend my previous statement.”

He’d closed his eyes, so he could not see the triumphant glee on the faces of the Heavens’ Ward knights before him. He heard Zephirin prompt him to continue, so he did.

“I was wrong. I am not  _ as much of a knight _ as you are-- you can barely even be  _ called _ knights.”

The room fell silent. Somehow, Aymeric found a hidden reservoir of strength, and he opened his eyes to look upon his tormentors. Zephirin was white with fury, Charibert was close behind, and Grinnaux mostly just looked disappointed.

When no challenge or renewed agony came, Aymeric felt emboldened to continue. “A knight is one who  _ protects _ , at all costs. Our duty is to Ishgard, first and foremost, but you…” He mustered the energy to glare at the three knights in turn. “You fight for greedy and selfish reasons. My father may be deluded, but he does believe that he works for the greater good. I’ve seen no such resolve in the knights of the Heavens’ Ward.”

The three knights stared back. Grinnaux was the first to break eye contact, looking away with an impassive shrug. Charibert backed up a step and crossed his arms, eyes narrowed at Aymeric as if considering  _ precisely _ what to do to him next, with particular care given to the planning this time.

Zephirin was livid. As Aymeric recalled, of the three in this room Zephirin was the only one who held his status as a knight in  _ any _ regard whatsoever. Aymeric met his eyes, challenged him to dispute the claim.

Instead of saying anything, Zephirin let out a strangled cry of rage and lunged at Aymeric, hands closing around his throat. Aymeric’s eyes widened, and he immediately began to struggle desperately.

_ Not like this! Fury help him, not like this! _

His feet kicked out and managed to strike Zephirin a few times, but glanced off the knight’s armor. Zephirin just snarled and tightened his grip.

Chains rattled in time to Aymeric’s struggle. The other two knights watched, evidently no longer caring for their victim’s fate. Darkness closed in on Aymeric’s vision, and his struggles weakened. He’d endured so much, only to fail now…

The door slammed open. Zephirin’s grip released as he turned around, and Aymeric gasped for air. Through eyes that teared from a sudden coughing fit, Aymeric saw a Temple Knight standing in the doorway, carefully averting his eyes from the prisoner.

“Sers! Intruders have broken into the Vault! They’ve set up a perimeter around the outside, and one group seems to be headed this way…”

Zephirin swore and stormed from the room, the subordinate knight trailing behind him. Grinnaux followed, bloodlust in his eyes. Charibert hung back, chuckling quietly to himself. He glanced at Aymeric, grinning cruelly. “Well, well. It seems our interrogation has been rendered moot. Your little friends have been kind enough to identify  _ themselves _ .” He snapped his fingers, sending a final jolt of pain through Aymeric, as if to remind him of his place. “I look forward to a  _ swift _ conclusion to our business, once the intruders are dealt with.”

The meaning was not lost on Aymeric. Now that they no longer needed to draw the identity of the others from him, they had no further use for him. Once they’d killed or captured the intruders, they would be back to kill him.

Aymeric smiled, in spite of the pain that wracked his entire being. The poor fools had no idea who they were up against.

\---

Not even a bell later, the sounds of fighting echoed down the hall. He heard running footsteps trailing away from the fight, toward his cell’s door. There was a forceful  _ thump _ on the door, followed by another, and then a muffled curse.

“Lord Haurchefant, there’s no need for that. I found the key.”

“Oh! Yes, that will make this _ much _ easier, I expect!”

The lock turned, and Aymeric thought he might faint from sheer relief when Lucia pushed the door open.

“Lord Commander! Thank the Fury--”

“Are you alright, my friend? No, no, that’s a foolish question. Hold on, we’ll get you down--”

“Stand back, you two.”

They did, allowing Estinien to step forward. Anyone else may have been made nervous by the way the dragoon leveled his lance, quietly and carefully calculating. Aymeric, however, had complete faith in his old friend, and did not so much as flinch when the lance flashed forward to neatly bisect the manacles that bound him.

Haurchefant rushed forward as Aymeric fell, catching him and easing him gently to the ground. “Easy, easy now… we must determine if you’ve any serious injuries before we attempt to move you…”

“Yes, of course,” said Aymeric breathlessly. He squeezed his eyes shut, the lingering pain washing over him in waves now that the worst of the danger had passed.

“Just a little longer, Ser Aymeric,” Lucia said. “We’ll get you out of here and into the care of the chirurgeons soon enough.”

Estinien stood by the door, his arms crossed. “You bloody idiot. You’re lucky everyone likes you so much.”

Laughing hurt too much, so Aymeric just smiled. Coming from Estinien, it was as good as a warm greeting. Noting those present, a thought occurred.

“The Warrior of Light,” said Aymeric. “They’re here, yes?”

“Fighting their way up to the Archbishop as we speak,” declared Haurchefant proudly. “I daresay they won’t be needing our help, but we ought to catch up as soon as we’re able.”

“We should get Ser Aymeric to safety first,” said Lucia.

“No,” said Aymeric. “I want to see them. And… I want to speak with my father. One more time.”

Perhaps it was a lost cause. Judging by the expression shared by his rescuers, the others certainly thought so. Even so, he had to try.

That way, he could say he did everything he could, before making the hardest decision of his life.

Haurchefant was the first to break the silence. “I don’t suppose there’s any changing your mind?”

“No, I…”

“Well, let’s get going, then!” Carefully, Haurchefant pulled one of Aymeric’s arms up over his shoulders, using his other arm to support him as they stood. “Easy, easy… As far as I can tell you should be alright, but we should get those broken ribs looked at as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, my friend,” said Aymeric quietly.   


“Think nothing of it. Now, let’s go see if our favorite foreigner has left any of the poor fools for us!”

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be honest my favorite thing in this entire fic is Haurchefant trying to break down the door and then responding cheerily to being presented the key.
> 
> I need to seek excuses to write more Haurchefant. He's just far too much fun to write.


End file.
